


His Lutea

by Mrs_Colette



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 12:45:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14593320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Colette/pseuds/Mrs_Colette
Summary: AU Drabble I wrote for a prompt contest on a forum. The prompt was 'Passive Aggressive'. Voldemort wants something done his way, Hermione disagrees with his methods.**I own nothing, but am extremely grateful that J.K. allows us to play with this wonderful world she has created.**





	His Lutea

Lord Voldemort gazed across the converted ballroom without bothering to hide his contempt. How difficult could it be to learn the Abscindo curse? Even with the extra duties she had developing her curses and working toward her Potions Mastery with Snape, she should have learned this curse by now. He had left the copy of Helywm’s Night Magicks on the desk in her library a month ago. Surely that was enough time for her to have devoured the tome and master a bit of dark magic. Yet there she stood, alternating between glaring at him and waving her arms about as though she was being attacked by flutterby moths. The Dark Lord felt what passed for a smirk cross his face as he recalled the day that the moths in the potion store had been released. She hit MacNair with an Aestus curse for laughing, simultaneously giving him third degree burns and a pelting by singing moths. Lord Voldemort had barred him from seeking relief, enjoying the punishment she had inflected. She was so clever. His eyes hardened as he saw the curse fail again. He rose from his throne and began to cross the great room. He would have to teach his Lutea a lesson, it would seem.

She glanced across the ballroom and quickly turned away to hide her smirk. She knew that he wouldn’t be able to resist the lure of teaching her a lesson. There were perks to the whole ‘brightest witch of her age’ business. It was still enjoyable to manipulate him, even though they were long past putting any real malice into the action. It was what passed for flirting between. The smile on her face morphed into a chilling smirk as she looked down at the pathetic man cowering at her feet. Eyes flashing, she shot out a stinging hex as she remembered the word he had tried to wound her with. Mudblood. Hadn’t she outgrown that particular insult? It was insulting, really, the lack of creativity he displayed. There were so many other titles she now wore proudly. Traitor. Murderer. Mistress. She wasn’t even sure who this sniveling man was. Merflyn or Martin, something like that. No one she or her Lord would typically concern themselves with, certainly. Rationally, she knew she was only so bothered because of this man’s resemblance to her fellow Gryffindor, that disgusting Pettigrew. No matter her own choices and the correlations that were frequently discussed when she was otherwise occupied, that man still had the power to overwhelm her common sense. The very first curse she had developed for Voldemort had pleased him so greatly he had allowed her to choose the test subject for her first Revel. It had been so satisfying to hear his screams as he collapsed in on himself, his bones turning to ash. She knew that was what had brought Morton to this moment, cowering at her feet. Her Lord just couldn’t resist the chance to tempt her with that damn bit of dark magic. She kicked out as the parody Peter reached for the hem of her robes. She smiled thinking of the lovely curse she had just perfected. She had nothing against the Abscindo curse, it was a wonderful bit of ancient magic. However she wanted to do more than just break this insipid wizard’s bones. Her new Coenum curse would let him know how it felt to be a mudblood. Well, for the few painful moments one can survive with mud in their veins, anyway. Some giggles escaped as she imagined Melvin writhing on the floor like the prisoners she had tested the curse on.

‘Do you enjoy failure, my Lutea? Or maybe you just find ineptitude amusing?’ Voldemort hissed as he crossed the ballroom. ‘I can assure you that I have no desire to waste my time watching you fail to cast a single curse.’

Hermione snorted and squared her shoulders. ‘Whatever do you mean, my Lord? Your minions barged into my lab and escorted me to the ballroom where you dumped this piece of trash at my feet and demanded I use a curse you know I have no interest in. As you are still here instead of meeting with Malfoy and Nott regarding their new licensing regulations it would appear that this is exactly how you want to waste your time.’

The Dark Lord glared down at Hermione, her magic blazing black and static all around him. Hermione released her own magic, sighing as she felt it melt with his, relishing in the electricity that ran through her, all the way to her core. Voldemort closed his eyes, his hands clenching as he felt her magic singing to his own, calling to him, her darkness matched perfectly with his own. She was magnificent, his Lutea, but he couldn’t allow her to forget who was Lord here.

‘I am aware that this is old magic, and not as demonstrative as you prefer, but I would’ve thought that you of all people would understand the importance of a spell like this. The wand movements of this curse were the beginning of the acknowledgement of the connection between the innate magic we possess and our ability to direct it with force. But consider your objections duly noted. Allow me to help you overcome your pride.’ His mouth morphed into what passed as a grin as he whispered, ‘Imperio.’ He inhaled sharply as he watched her sag loosely, as though her marionette strings had been loosened. He raised his arm to begin guiding her through the complex wand movements. Suddenly her spine stiffened and she turned her head.  
‘You know that spell no longer works on me, Voldemort,’ she ground out, ‘and I’m offended that you even tried.’ 

‘I apologize for nothing, my Lutea, as you are well aware. However, the wand movements are imperative to understanding the true worth of this spell. I’d hate for you to only receive half of your lesson. Perhaps you require a more hands on approach?’

He waved his hand and Hermione felt herself being propelled backwards into his arms. Her back hit his chest and he wrapped his thin fingers around her wrists. He spoke slowly, coaching her through the primitive but innovate movements. Hermione didn’t bother suppressing the shiver that ran down her spine. Voldemort tightened his fingers around her wrists, deliberately brushing against last night’s bruising. He repeated the motions twice more, pressing himself against her. She heard the door shut as Lucius and Theo left the room, and smiled, knowing she had won.

‘You know I always get what I want in the end,’ she whispered, feeling Voldemort release her.  
He gazed down at her, seemingly unamused. ‘Show me what a good student you are, Hermione. Let me reward your sssstu-dious behiavior,’ he hissed, his voice dark as his magic and thick with promise as he stepped back to straighten his robes. 

Hermione glanced down at the doomed wizard, still cowering pathetically on the marble. She raised her wand and cried ‘Coenum!’ Lord Voldemort glared down at her, wrath coming off of him in waves. Before he could raise it fully, Hermione glanced over her shoulder and purred like the lion she was. ‘So sorry my Lord. Guess I’ll need a few more of those lessons.’


End file.
